Shadowy Words
by SerenLyall
Summary: He had always thought her hair was beautiful, but he had never realized what it meant.


**Disclaimer:** Star Wars and all related content belongs to George Lucas, Disney, and/or whoever else may own them. No profit was made from the writing of this.

**Rating:** K+; implied relations, but nothing explicit.

**Time frame:** en route to Bespin

**Notes:** Happy Tuesday everyone! It's a bit gloomy here, as well as cold (as cold as it ever gets here in the Deep South) and windy, so I thought a little bit of nice fluff (actually, not sure it could exactly be called fluff...) might brighten the day. Hopefully it will do the same for your Tuesday, whatever the weather may be. I apologize for my silence, both in posting and responding to reviews, but I promise I shall do better this time. Speaking of, I would love to hear from you, be it thoughts or constructive criticism or questions (or whatever else). Most importantly, though: Enjoy!

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_Credit for the headcanon belongs to tumblr user phil-the-stone._

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**~Shadowy Words~**

Han ran his fingers through Leia's hair. Not for the first time did he wonder (_with awe, with a strange cacophony of hopehappinessfearlove?_) at the way her long tresses slid between his fingers, dark as midnight in his hand and splayed out across her bare back. They pooled in his palm and caressed his forearm as his hand moved slowly, rhythmically, up and down and up again, pulling out the tangled knots and smoothing out the crinks.

She lay with her head propped up on his chest, her ear pressed against his heart. One arm draped contentedly over his bare stomach while the fingers of her other hand were laced with his, their joined hands resting on the mattress somewhere near their heads.

"You know," Han said, breaking the silence lying comfortably between them, "you should really let your hair down more often." His fingers did not cease their careful combing, even as he shifted slightly, the better he could glance down at the top of Leia's head.

"Hmm," the young woman murmured. Han could feel her breath on his bare chest as she breathed a near-silent sigh, and his fingers hesitated in their rhythm. She said nothing, though he could feel her heartbeat against his ribs, and knew that her pulse had quickened.

"Leia?" Han asked, halfway torn between amusement and (_seven gods, Solo, how far have you fallen?_) concern.

"Did you ever visit Alderaan?"

The question caught Han by surprise. He frowned, fingers beginning to card their way through her hair once more—an instinctive calming motion, though whether it was meant for her, or for him, Han couldn't know—and then it was his turn to sigh. "I think I was there once, when I was little. The ship I…worked on went a bunch of different places, but I was rarely allowed outside."

"Hmm," Leia said again. If she understood what Han had implied—and Han couldn't see how she wouldn't have—she made no comment. None, save that her murmur carried a thin strain of sourness that hadn't been present before.

After a moment of stretched silence, Han pressed gently, "Why do you ask?"

This time Leia's sigh was fully formed and audible, and she shifted in Han's hold, turning more onto her side so that her head now rested on his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of her eyes flashing up to his, dark though they were (_like warm shadows amid the cold darkness—shadows that swallowed him whole, that dragged him down into her ice and fire and bound him to against her, tangling him with her_).

(_This can't last_, _he reminded himself cruelly. You're going to leave her someday. That's the way it always has been, and always will be._)

(_But it doesn't have to be…_)

"Hair on Alderaan is—was," she corrected herself, "very…" She struggled to find the right words. "It was very private."

Han shoved away his spiraling thoughts, locking them sharply behind the durasteel door he reserved for just such things. "Private? I'm not sure I understand."

"To have your hair down," Leia explained patiently, "especially in the presence of someone of the opposite gender, was as good as going shirtless." She shifted restlessly again. "To have your hair up was a measure of dignity, and respect—both for yourself, and for others around you. It was a method of restraint, I suppose, as well as a way of making a statement."

"A statement?" Han felt very much (_confuseddesperatewondering_) out of his depth (_Why do you even care?_), and yet he could not keep himself from trying to dig further, the desire to know more—to understand more (_about her, about her life and culture, about the world she had lost which had taken so much with it as it burned_)—urging him on, like a smoldering ember lodged in his stomach.

"How a woman wore her hair could mean any number of things," Leia explained sleepily. "The more "up" she had it, the more she was perceived as unyielding and controlling, as being someone well in command of her own body. The more hair she had "down," the more respect—and intimacy—she had with you. Usually the only men who saw it fully loose were fathers and lovers."

Han's hand stilled once more. This time his fingers hovered just over Leia's bare shoulder. After a few seconds' hesitation his fingertips began to brush senseless patterns lightly across her skin, parting the hair that splayed across her shoulders and sending it lazily dropping down her back.

"Huh," was all Han said. But he could not quite ignore the burning feeling in (_his heart_)the pit of his stomach—the clawing tendrils of warmth that were crawling up into his chest and reaching for his throat. Her words clung viciously to Han's thoughts (_lover, lover, lover_), their formless talons sinking deep into his breast and lodging deep within his mind.

(_Lover…_)

"Leia…"

"Mmh?"

Han opened his mouth.

And then the words lodged in his throat.

"Han?"

"It's nothing," Han said with a small sigh. "G'night, Leia." He wrapped his free arm around her shoulder, snuggling her more closely against his side, and dropped a light kiss onto the top of her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She hummed but did not speak, only tightening her own hold on him and shifting so that one leg was tangled with his.

Han smiled softly into the darkness—it was an odd quirk he had begun to notice (_like the way she would tap her forefinger when irritated with Threepio, or that she hated anything in her caf but she would never say anything about it if you made it wrong_), how she wouldn't fall asleep unless one of her legs was tangled with one of his. He found it (_not really cute or sexy or sweet_) endearing. It was like a little bit of Leia manifesting itself, tangling itself around him (_and making him love her even more_).

Leia's breath evened out as sleep stole over her. It did not escape Han's notice how much faster she fell asleep now—though she would still far too often wake with a scream in the middle of the night, shaking and drenched with sweat, choked sobs rising in her throat and tears biting at her eyes—nor how after her nightmares she would only sleep again after he had taken her into his arms.

It did not escape his notice.

And it made him feel sick.

(_Except he wasn't sure if it was an entirely bad kind of sick._)

Closing his eyes, Han once more trailed his fingers through Leia's hair, lying in thick pools on the mattress beneath her. He took a deep breath (_he could smell her, and him, and them_) and he smiled.

"For what it's worth," Han murmured, "I think you should wear your hair down more often. It suits you."

"Whatever you say, Flyboy," Leia murmured in response, voice nearly inaudible.

"I thought you were asleep." It was half a confession, half an apology.

"I am. Now go to sleep yourself."

Han grinned. "Whatever you say, your Worship."

And for once, he obeyed without argument.

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**Notes:** I hope that you enjoyed, and I would truly love to hear from you! Happy Tuesday, ~Seren


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